


A Tuscan Paradise

by unholyfruitt



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Gay Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Italy, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-War, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholyfruitt/pseuds/unholyfruitt
Summary: ‘Something interesting on your shoes, stranger?’ The blond teased, feigning curiosity and leaning a little forward as if there really was something fascinating on Alec’s shoes.Alec willed himself to look up. Even after seven years, he behaved as though he was seeing Maurice for the first time, and for this, he scolded himself, but also considered it a testament to his lover’s beauty rather than his own boyishness even as he approached the age of thirty-one.---------An evening in Tuscany, 1920.
Relationships: Maurice Hall/Alec Scudder
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	A Tuscan Paradise

Late summer in Tuscany. Tittering birds going from here to there, flying from the town below to the hill that overlooked it, disappearing into leaning trees with food for the young. A lone weasel, nearly blending in with the beige dust of the path, slipping into the crooks beyond the edge. But Alec saw. A momentary burst of pride ran through him, thinking of how he caught the small animal that was trying not to be seen. He was aware of everything, he thought. Especially now, when the paths were unpopulated with traveling men and children playing with wild dogs leaping up, with carpenters like himself and laborers and farmers going about their daily business, discussing wages and employers in warm Italian. An inn nearby often put chairs out near the door, where patrons enjoyed each other’s company and the generous Tuscan sun. But there was none of that now. Only Alec walking along, often glancing distractedly at narrow bends and the faded leaves of bushes that sprouted there, hands in his pockets and thinking of making a meal for two back at home. After a few moments, he heard another noise, different from the tittering of birds and the soft whisper of the summer wind. The clip-clop of a horse. He turned around, curious, and saw what seemed to be Apollo himself cantering towards him. The man floated as if not touching the ground, his wheat-colored shirt moving with him, bound by braces bought with love nearly seven years ago, in another land, in a homeland. The mane of his white – save for a few grey marks – horse, long and wild, tangling in the air, weaving in the midsummer. The horse was without reins, without stirrups, the man riding with a simple tattered blanket beneath him, his trousers hitched and folded above his ankles, showing browned, shining muscles. Alec swallowed, having stopped in his tracks, arms limp. The man came near.

‘Hello stranger,’ he said, applying pressure with his knees ever so slightly so that the mare slowed to a stop.

‘Hello,’ breathed Alec, suddenly being aware of only the man, instead of everything altogether. _What’s the difference?_ ‘The horse?’ he asked numbly, unable to hear his own voice.

‘Ah yes, Old Stefano asked me to make a delivery,’ the man replied, patting a bag at his hip, the strap going across his lean chest. ‘The cart’s gone for repair and I knew how to ride, so here I am.’

‘Here you are,’ Alec smiled, looking down shyly as his lover, his Maurice, his Apollo, beamed.

‘Something interesting on your shoes, stranger?’ The blond teased, feigning curiosity and leaning a little forward as if there really was something fascinating on Alec’s shoes.

Alec willed himself to look up. Even after seven years, he behaved as though he was seeing Maurice for the first time, and for this, he scolded himself, but also considered it a testament to his lover’s beauty rather than his own boyishness even as he approached the age of thirty-one.

‘I don’t have to tell you how gorgeous you look, _stranger_ ,’ he remarked, exaggerating the last word as reluctant participation in Maurice’s little game.

The other laughed, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

 _Seems I’m not the only boyish one_ , Alec thought, smirking. ‘What’s she called?’ he asked, purposefully diverting the conversation.

‘Gaia,’ replied Maurice, patting the mare’s neck. ‘The Earth deity. Old Stefano says she brings good luck, apparently, the bookshop came into a pretty large profit after she trotted into his life.’

Alec laughed. _She certainly does bring good luck._

Gaia shifted, shaking her head as if she knew how silly Old Stefano sounded. Alec ran a hand over the hip-bone, feeling the strength of the animal, its strong haunches while glancing at his lover’s back. The sweat on his shirt had made it translucent, the body underneath seeming more alluring.

‘I’d better be going,’ Maurice sighed. ‘Madam Olivia will have my head if I don’t get these books to her soon.’

‘Oh . . . yes, yes of course.’

Maurice offered a guilty smile, then changed tones. ‘But listen . . .’ he leaned forward, face inches away from Alec’s as his right leg tensed to remain stable, ‘when I get home . . . there’s something very _interesting_ I’d want you to look at.’

Alec swallowed again, suddenly dizzy. He could feel Maurice’s hot breath on his flushed cheeks, his golden hair falling over a sweat-beaded forehead, misty eyelashes. He suddenly forgot how to speak, becoming conscious of a certain warmth spreading throughout his groin, and all too familiar deep, blunt pang in the pit of his stomach. Maurice, smiling proudly at the effect he had caused, straightening back up on Gaia, urging her with a flex of his legs, and cantering off on the path ahead. Alec looked on, his lover moving rhythmically, the daffodil of his head catching the melting sun, and then turning, turning, into the bend behind a villa. The clip-clop too faded away into the summer sounds of nature. Alec looked down again shyly, linking fingers behind his back and pressing curved lips together.

* * *

Maurice threw his head back, his moans filling the bedroom, a melody in Alec’s ears. Breaths hitched in throats, eyes closed shut in ecstasy, hands gripping white, crumpled sheets. The setting sun shone in through the windows, past the wavering curtains, and from Alec’s eyes, his lover looked akin to the sun itself.

When Maurice came home, Alec was fixing a quick supper. They had shared a few bites of Alec’s creation, the caresses with the intention of something more being far more than evident. The heat between them was incited and encouraged once more, and the rest of the supper was gladly abandoned. Their kitchen was no more than a stove and few cupboards in a depression fashioned in a corner, and their landlady, Valentina, was a middle-aged woman hard of hearing but extremely glad to have tenants (distant-cousins, she was told by them). Theirs was an old structure, forty small stone steps leading up to the upper half, passageways wide enough for two, a small washroom, a fairly large bedroom which led to a terrace, a bare table for eating and playing cards (or other activities) and a few chairs. This, indeed, had been home since they came here after the war. They had returned to the greenwood beforehand, of course, and had no real intention of changing places at all, at least not immediately.

Maurice and Alec had been in bad ways. Visions of a blood-filled battlefield, of diseases and shell injuries, of friends and acquaintances, killed brutally, all tormented their every waking and sleeping moment. Things got better eventually, but Alec had already been thinking of a change by then. A different climate, a place where they could explore their interests, explore culture and music, and art. By the winter of 1919, they were in Cortona, a hill town in Tuscany. Maurice found work in a family-owned bookshop, doing deliveries as well as the accounts. Alec found carpentry, fashioning shelves and chests, teaching apprentices in his free time. They still had bad days sometimes, but memories of the war had slowly but surely begun to blur, allowing them to look towards the future as they started a new decade in both age and time.

They had lain on the bed, kissing frantically and without abandon, fiddling with stubborn buttons and removing braces. Their erections ached for release, straining against the trouser fabric, and Alec had slipped a hand between them to give Maurice a soft but firm squeeze, feeling his heavy shaft as he moaned against his neck, whispering sweet words. Maurice moved rhythmically, back and forth, pushing his cock into Alec’s palm, slipping his own hand into Alec’s hastily unbuttoned shirt, and pinching his nipples playfully, a lazy grin appearing. Alec gasped, whining, and the smile grew. In an attempt to gain revenge, he tugged on Maurice’s trousers, revealing his throbbing manhood, and touching everything – his arms, his legs, his chest – except that. Maurice growled, eyes becoming dark. The smile had long faded, an annoyed scowl replacing it, although it seemed from his prick that this was something that spurred him on. Taking his time, Alec moved from kissing the perspiring chest, to the navel, the moistened wiry mound of hair, and finally, putting his mouth on the warm cock. Maurice groaned, pleasure overtaking him and not hesitating to pull on Alec’s dark curls, stretching his hand downwards to twirl a specific strand at the back of his neck and tugging as Alec took him in deeper.

‘Oh . . . darling . . .’ Maurice whispered.

Alec glanced up, wanting to see his lover convulse and try to bite his lips to prevent him from making too much noise. _You were always so conscious, my sweetheart. I wish you weren’t. I like to hear you. I’d like to hear you._ Alec thought for a moment that if he spoke loudly enough in his head, Maurice would somehow know of it. He closed his eyes and sucked slowly, holding his lover by the waist to prevent him from moving too rapidly. One hand went downwards, into Maurice’s most sensitive area, his most vulnerable. Probing, penetrating, circling, stretching. Maurice’s body buzzed, intoxicated by want, and a hand went to his mouth as he moaned into it, shaking as his breath quickened. After a few moments, the hand that tugged on Alec’s hair went to his shoulder, pressing desperately, and Alec stopped sucking to look back up.

‘Please . . . Alec . . I’m . .’ Maurice mumbled, unable to speak. ‘I’m . . close . . .’

Alec drew back, a faint glint of dominance in his eyes. His lover’s cock was very warm now, slick from both saliva and pre-cum, and a thin spit line linked it and Alec’s lips as he took it out from his mouth. His own member was near hurting, with wet droplets staining the sheets where it rubbed. On his hands and knees, he went forwards until his face was directly above Maurice’s, relishing the sight of his reddened face – both from arousal and the heat – his gasping mouth and rise and fall of the throat as he tried to calm himself. At that moment, Maurice wrapped a leg around Alec’s waist and put an arm around his back, pulling him close, and with one swift movement, put him on the bed beneath him so that their positions switched. Alec, momentarily dazed by what just happened, watched dumbly as Maurice sat up, bracing himself by holding Alec’s hips, swallowing, and then moving ever so slightly against his lover’s swollen cock. Alec’s head went back against the pillow, the agony making him dig his hands into Maurice’s thighs that held him in place.

‘Oh . . G - God . . . Maur . . . ice . . oh that’s . . . oh . . gorgeous . . .’

Maurice moved up and down, Alec’s cock right between his cheeks, teasing him. A memory rushed through his numbed brain, a dimly remembered but still fondly thought of memory. A rainy Tuesday. A city. A museum. A momentary lover’s quarrel. He thought about how they had been fighting, yes, but as if taking turns. Just as how they were taking turns now in teasing the other, provoking him, filling him with pleasure. The comparison made him chuckle softly.

When he felt Alec had had enough, licking his chapped lips and moaning his lover’s name, Maurice took his manhood and angled himself so that it could slip inside. Alec’s hands went to Maurice’s hips, steadying him as a pleasured groan left his mouth. After a few seconds of adjusting, Alec was fully inside Maurice, every muscle straining to resist release just a little while more, eyes glazed and full of desire and passion.

‘Oh . . . my sweet . . .’

* * *

Maurice threw his head back, his moans filling the bedroom, a melody in Alec’s ears. Breaths hitched in throats, eyes closed shut in ecstasy, hands gripping white, crumpled sheets. The setting sun shone in through the windows, past the wavering curtains, and from Alec’s eyes, his lover looked very much akin to the sun itself. His hair seemed like an extension of the rays themselves, wet with perspiration, his beautiful mouth uncovered by a hand since both were occupied in bracing himself. However, he still managed to bite his lips to prevent any more sounds from escaping.

‘No . . . don’t . .’ Alec purred, squeezing Maurice’s thigh.

‘But . . .’

‘No one . . . no one’s around . . . please . . I want to hear you . . . Maur . . .’

Maurice clamped his eyes shut, letting himself open his mouth to express his pleasure, Alec stroking his chest, running a hand over his tender nipples, massaging his buttocks that rocked back and forth, pressing and directing; he felt everything. Alec knew they were reaching the edge, his own cock pulsing inside Maurice’s tightness, and he began pumping Maurice’s prick rapidly, watching his movements become more desperate and hungry, whimpering as his legs began shaking. Then, feeling himself going over, Alec suddenly and forcefully took hold of Maurice’s hips, releasing inside him with a loud moan. Maurice, with the sensation of warmth deep within, came soon after, spilling himself all over Alec’s stomach and heaving chest, slumping forwards in exhaustion, feeling an arm cradling his trembling body.

'Oh . . . oh, Alec . . .'

'Maurice . . .'

'I . . love you.'

'I love you . . darling . . my dearest . . .'

* * *

Afterwards, they watched the last few moments of the sunset, from the safety of their haven in the hills, feeling closest to joy, to paradise. Tangled sheets damp with sweat and love, treasured kisses, passionate embraces.

**Author's Note:**

> So after I read and watched Maurice, I kind of sketched out how Maurice and Alec would live their lives post-canon, and I decided that they would spend some time in Italy after the war [also somewhat inspired by Back at the Villa (Bellagio) by 12XU, an amazing read!!] and I wanted to write a fic on a very specific scenario that's been running through my mind for the longest time (and thought it'd be a nice opportunity to try writing smut for the first time too). I hope people enjoy this, and as always, these characters belong to E. M. Forster and Merchant Ivory


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